Through the Maelstrom (10 page)

"What do you wish of me?" he asked softly.
I'll give you anything.

Her lips parted and a rose blush lighted her cheeks. "Well, I wanted to apologize for being rude earlier and..." She gulped before blurting, "I wanted to know if you would go to dinner with me before the movie plays tonight."

Christophe wasn't sure what a movie was, but he wouldn't let it daunt him. "Of course. I shall escort you to the dining hall at the hour of your choosing." There was more than one place to eat on the ship. He found it strange to say the least, when he was used to a small galley and a mess hall.

"I'll meet you there instead. I have an errand to run first."

"Oh?" Did she desire to secure a weapon to thwart any unwanted advances? He found himself smiling at the thought of her wielding a weapon in general. Her breath caught at his response. Did her heart beat a little faster like his did in her presence? She wasn't as immune to him as she thought, and that was a good thing, for his response was not one sided.

"I need to have a chat with Mrs. Baker without you there to dis—" She cleared her throat. "Without anyone else there." Had she been about to say he'd distracted her? He couldn't help smug satisfaction settling in at the thought.

"That's what you were talking to Josiah about?"

She arched an eyebrow. "I didn't know where to find her. Turns out you’re using that poor man's mother to manipulate him. Have you no shame?"

He threw his head back, laughing, and then cleared his throat. "Pirate."

She told him very colorfully what he could do with his pirate sword, and it didn't sound very enjoyable.

"Now, Serena. You've already invited me to dine with you. Can't take it back." He held his arms out for her. "Come, take a picture with me."

Who knows, it could very well be the portrait they showed their grandchildren when telling them how they first met. The very notion of starting a family with her sank in, and he realized, more than ever, how much he longed for it.

***

S
erena knocked on Mrs. Baker's door and hoped the lady was in, but at the same time secretly hoped she wouldn't answer. It was bad enough she had her son involved in whatever they were up to. Serena needed to hear what the lady had to say when neither of them were around. There was much she wanted to know, and she felt completely foolish when she thought of vocalizing the questions she had.

She couldn't believe she'd let Becky Ann talk her into any of this, but she couldn't deny her physical attraction to Christophe. She'd dropped her picture ticket off in her room so it didn't tempt her to get it developed. He'd only laughed when she refused to tip him since he'd made her take the stupid picture.

Mrs. Baker opened the door and grinned. "I knew you'd come to your senses eventually, dear. Please, come in." She gestured to enter, and Serena stared at the woman.

Come to my senses? The hell you say?
Everyone around her was crazy. Maybe she should jump overboard and start swimming.

Mrs. Baker's room was not much different from her own, which wasn't surprising. A cot had been added to the corner, and Christophe's preppy clothes from earlier were neatly folded next to his pistol. If the outfit had seemed out of place on his body, they seemed even stranger next to a historical prop gun.

"He doesn't have his own room?" she asked. Josiah hadn't mentioned that when she'd made him spill. "Is he really a stowaway?"

The old lady cackled and sat down in the bench bolted in the corner. She was in a pair of floral pajama pants and a matching, long sleeve top. It looked overly warm, but she seemed comfortable. "You don't really believe that. You long to believe the truth, but you're too stubborn to do so because you fear betrayal. Your aura says as much."

Serena snorted. The lady was as delusional as Christophe. "Yeah, I'm gonna be real broken up when I find out he didn't really time travel and he's not really a pirate."

"Sarcasm is a defense mechanism, my dear. A misdirection. People use it to hide their hurt and their discomfort. Their sadness and their affection. You are afraid of him, of who he could be for you if you let him close."

The conversation was making her super uncomfortable. She stood there, looking anywhere but at Mrs. Baker. "I'm afraid he's targeting me."

Clutching her cane in both hands, Mrs. Baker didn't respond immediately. Then, when she did, her voice was soft. Kind. "He is, but not for the reasons you believe. What did you do, Serena? What pulled him to you out of his time?"

Feeling completely foolish, she admitted, "I wished upon a falling star." Why not play along? Maybe Serena could outsmart her at her own game.

Mrs. Baker nodded. "And what happened afterward?"

"The water glowed. The boat shifted like it bumped something. A few minutes later, I found Christophe surrounded by a crowd of people." Looking totally bewildered and...out of place. Then, when she'd dragged him away and he'd followed her to her room, he'd thought she was an eighteenth-century prostitute who'd come on to him. Serena frowned. When thinking of it in a historical context, she could see how it had happened. It made it less hurtful, that understanding.

Except it was a trick. Complete play acting, but to what end?

The old lady nodded again. "I know there is no evidence to back it up, but your wish has come true—all you have to do is believe."

Nothing was that simple. Fairytales didn't exist and pirates did not cross time to court twenty-first-century women because they think they are soulmates. "That seems awfully convenient."

Mrs. Baker shrugged. "Well, what would you prefer?" she drawled in her Southern accent. "To see him fight a sea serpent for you?"

"Now who's being sarcastic?"

She cackled. "Let Josiah and me worry about the paperwork. I know a man in the government, a friend of my husband's. I'll see to it that Christophe has an identity when you get home. Take this time to know him, see if you can come to love him, even if not right away. You'll never forgive yourself if you avoid it out of fear." With a kind smile she added, "When will you ever get a chance like this again?"

Becky Ann had said almost the exact same thing. It seemed too easy. Like there was an obstacle she couldn't see. "What if he goes back?" And why was Serena considering it like she was starting to believe it?

"I wish I had a definitive answer on how the vortexes work," the older lady continued. " But the stories tell of soulmates coming together, crossing time. They do not, however, lay out the details or what happens after."

So he could stay, but he could also return home as soon as she opens up to him. Why risk her heart for indefinites?

Mrs. Baker's voice cut into her thoughts. "I can see by your expression that you're considering writing him off because there's nothing set in stone, but I ask you this: what is? There is no handbook for love, even for those who didn't cross time. Look at the divorce rate? Mortality rate? If you never take a risk in fear of a broken heart you will never, I repeat,
never
find a love worth fighting for."

The words hit her with such force she had to gulp in air. Mrs. Baker was right. Serena hadn't even attempted to date again after her previous relationship went up in flames. The heartbreak was too hard, so she avoided opening herself up to it again. Being introverted, while challenging, had become a convenient excuse to hide behind.

"Why would you help me?"

"Because I see the way he looks at you. The way his expression grows wistful. I've also known women who spend their entire life alone because they are too worried about consequences to live a little."

Serena swallowed and took a deep breath. Ending up alone scared her, but she'd grown so accustomed to living her own way, depending on herself, that she'd given up on the dream.

Spending time with Christophe didn't mean she had to believe his farfetched story or commit to him. She glanced out the window to the stars twinkling merrily above the island. What would it hurt to befriend the man and see how that went?

T
he grand staircase had been decorated with strings of fairy lights trailing below where the ballrooms and dining areas were located. Serena shivered when she spotted Christophe awaiting her at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in his pirate clothes, fresh from his shift of photo taking. People stopped and stared at him, but she didn't pay them any mind as she hesitated on the top step.

Bystanders were looking at her too. Becky Ann had forced her into wearing the slinky club dress she'd brought and hadn't needed. Since Serena wore the same size, it was difficult to find the proper excuse not to accept it. It was modest enough for a dinner, but far too short and low cut for a first date. She felt exposed. The crimson color made her stand out. All she wanted to do was fade into the wall and escape the intrigued glances from strangers and from Christophe, who placed a palm upon the bannister like he would climb up to retrieve her if she dared run.

What an intriguing notion, running. Providing the chase. He'd catch her without a doubt. Serena wasn't ready for his hands on her. He'd kiss her, she'd melt again while tangling her fingers in his blond hair, and God help her, but she didn't know if she could tamp down her own desire if that happened.

Attempting to rein in her hormones, Serena took the first step down. She prayed she didn't turn her ankle in the spiked, strappy heels and go careening down the stairs. She was almost certain the dress wouldn’t stay in place should that happen, and though she wore a pair of lace boyshorts and a strapless bra, she didn't trust the pirate not to cop any feels under the pretense of aiding her. The thought should bother her, yet she found it strangely arousing. His heated gaze wasn't helping matters any either.

Christophe met her halfway up the stairs, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow. "You look..." he trailed off, seeming at a loss for words as sheer wonderment crossed his features. She was both delighted and mortified. She'd suspected the dress was overkill.

"Uh...thank you. You look nice as well."
God, I'm such a twit.
He looked the same as he did earlier. Hot.

He grinned as he assisted her down the stairs. "I'm much obliged that you wished to see me this eve." His left hand covered hers as she clung to his arm while he led her downstairs. She wouldn't have been able to pull away from him if she'd wanted to. In fact, her palm might have seared itself to him.

Realizing she should reply, Serena refrained from retorting that he hadn't given her much choice since he wouldn't go away, and nodded instead
. I'm so bad at this. No wonder I don't get asked on second dates.

Hold on. When had she gone from humoring Becky Ann and Mrs. Baker to wondering about second dates? Clearly she was out of her mind, high on the pheromones he was shooting in her direction. Needing attention she'd gone far too long without.

They were seated right away, being docked giving them an advantage since the majority of the guests were on the island. As Christophe pulled her chair out for her, she noticed Becky Ann taking a seat with Paul on the other side of the restaurant. She waved, but Serena glared. Her friend wore jeans and a T-shirt, having forced
her
to wear the skimpy dress. There would be retribution. Painful retribution.

"I see your companion has found a gentleman of her own," Christophe said, taking his seat across a far too small table for two. His legs brushed hers. When she shifted, they did so again. He did it on purpose, keeping her out of her comfort zone. "I wager she's here to chaperone?" He arched a golden eyebrow and teased, "A little far away to do so properly. Besides, what if conversation needed to be course corrected?"

"Perhaps." She licked her dry lips, ignoring how his gaze dropped, lids lowering. His nostrils flared. "Or maybe this is a really nice restaurant and they wanted to eat here too." Glasses of water had been placed for them when they arrived. Serena gulped hers, needing something to do with her hands before she started fidgeting.
This is a bad idea. A really bad idea.

The waiter approached before the conversation could go any further. Christophe ordered a pork chop with a baked potato and she asked for the filet mignon with a potato as well, but hers was mashed. She tried, and failed, to ignore the way he grinned with approval when she ordered meat instead of a salad. At least he wouldn't pressure her on her diet. Salads were great and all, but she did enjoy meat.

Once the waiter left to put in their order, Christophe said, "It doesn't bother me if you insist on a chaperone. I know my story is a little odd, and I respect your caution. It's also no different than I'd expect where I'm from." It was interesting he'd said
where
and not
when
. Could this be a flaw in his story, or had he momentarily forgotten his circumstances?

She folded her hands in her lap and stared at the table. "Really?" Maybe he was saying what he thought she wanted to hear.

The creaking of the table shifting heralded his movements before she could comprehend what he was up to. Christophe leaned forward and tilted her chin up with two fingers, his sincere expression held her still. "Why do you shield your gaze from mine so often? Do I repulse you?"

Is that what he believed? "N-no." The opposite was at fault. He was too good looking that she worried she would be caught staring.

"Then why?" He dragged his fingers upward in a delicate stroke that tingled and gave her goosebumps. Then he cupped the side of her face, and before she realized what she was doing she leaned into it and sighed. A coconut scent lingered from the cruise line's signature soaps, but there was a masculine undertone to his skin that spoke to all within her that was feminine.

The entire situation was embarrassing enough. Might as well confide in him. She pulled away, noting his hesitation before he set his arm on the edge of the table in front of him. "I don't do well in conversation with people I don't know well. Especially men."

"I gathered as much, but why avoid eye contact?" He shook his head. "That's a habit reserved for those who have been abused or horribly shamed."